


In The End

by castlequill



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 10x23, M/M, season 10 alternate ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:38:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castlequill/pseuds/castlequill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean stood with the scythe in hand, and he realized that Cain might have been right about what Dean would do to his brother, but he’d been wrong about how it would happen.</p><p>In the end, it wasn't blood and betrayal and pain. It was resigned acceptance, two bowed heads, and a whispered "I'm sorry".<br/>---<br/>Dean accepts Death's offer and agrees to kill his brother. And yet they both somehow get their happy ending anyway, and it's all because of Cas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The End

Dean stood with the scythe in hand, and he realized that Cain might have been right about what Dean would do to his brother, but he’d been wrong about how it would happen.

In the end, it wasn't blood and betrayal and pain. It was resigned acceptance and two bowed heads, a whispered "I'm sorry" that could have come from either of them, but Dean was the one who felt his lips move.

It was watching his brother crumble to dust, fast enough that he was gone before he had the chance to realize that Dean had already struck. It was two photographs clasped with trembling fingers, and a single nod to say that he was ready. 

Then Death took him away.  

* * *

In the end, their was nothing but white, but it didn’t feel as though the world around him was made of light – it felt as though the world around him was nothing at all, as though it didn’t even deserve to be called a world. He held out a hand and the air was solid before him, but he took a step forward and he slipped through the pure white sky as smooth as silk. It didn’t feel as though he was breathing, but he didn’t think that he had died.

But all other sensations were overwhelmed by the anger bubbling hot under his skin. The desire to kill that went unfulfilled in this empty place, just as Death had intended. Dean had barely managed to reign in his anger long enough for Death to leave him here, and now it was unleashed at full force. It didn’t matter that he had both accepted and taken in part in Sam’s death. It still turned him into the monster that Cain had warned him that he would be.

And so Dean raged and raged. He tore at his clothes and his skin, punishing the only human left for him to touch, but his skin always healed. He’d lie on his back panting at the air above him that wasn’t quite a sky, watching hallucinations play in front of his eyes in vivid detail, millions of innocent bystanders being slaughtered in his dreams, and he burned to make his dreams come true. In his saner moments, he would remember that these urges were the exact reason why he had had himself locked away here. He was not often sane.

So Dean bellow his rage into the void, slashed his hands like claws at imaginary targets, daydreamed about forms of torment that he hadn’t even thought about since his time in Hell. He thrashed. He screamed.

And then one day, he stopped. 

He didn’t know how long it had taken – centuries, maybe – but for the first time since the Mark had been placed on his arm, Dean felt as though he was fully in control. As if he could return to Earth, build a life there without ever feeling the need to do harm. But Death had said that Dean’s imprisonment would be forever, and Dean believed it. And anyway, Cain had likely felt the same.  

Sometimes Dean would wish that he could speak to Sam, tell him that maybe he had been right about Dean being good inside, about Dean beating the Mark. It was hard to believe, considering the fantasies that had occupied his mind for who-knows-how-long. But in the end, he had won. And maybe that was enough to prove his goodness, after all.

Dean could hope, at least.

But Sam wasn’t here for him to tell, and he never would be.

He laid down, stared above him at nothing, and resigned himself to an eternity spent alone.

* * *

In the end, there was an angel. Dean’s angel. His blue tie was the first flash of color in as long as he could remember, his extended hand felt like the softest thing that Dean had ever known.

Dean couldn’t even bring himself to ask how Cas had gotten here, or why he would even want to come. Instead, he pressed his head against the side of Cas’ neck, forgetting all the reasons why he had never allowed himself to do this, forgetting everything but the need to hold on.

It didn’t make sense that Cas would come for him. Dean had beaten him, left him with a warning of what would happen if they were to meet again. Dean had killed his brother, and had left Cas with no reason to believe that he wouldn’t be the next victim. It must have taken him months to learn Dean’s location, years even. It would’ve required him to search desperately for someone who’d threatened his death. And even once Dean had been found, he had left Earth behind, sacrificed the sunshine and cool winds and cute animals that he had come to love, traveled to this land of nothingness with no guarantee that he would live long past his arrival. It didn’t make sense for him to put himself in such danger, not when Dean had given him no reason to believe in him.

But Cas had still come.

Dean hadn’t realized how desperately he’d needed Cas until he had arrived.

When their lips touched for the first time, Dean tasted hope.

* * *

In the end, they didn’t need words. Sometimes Dean was certain that years slipped by without either of them needing to say a word, communicating solely through the touch of their fingertips. Sometimes they spent decades in fervent passion, holding and grabbing and clutching, their lips too hard as they pressed together, their hands almost painful as they grabbed at each other’s chests and lower. But other times it was simply soft and sweet and _them_. Dean would find a new joke to make after years of repeated material. Cas would tell him the stories that Metatron had downloaded into his brain, and Dean would laugh at how much the angel knew versus how much he still didn’t quite understand.

Dean could never escape from this place, but Cas could come and go as he pleased. He would leave sometimes, for minutes or days or years, and return with new stories to tell. Kevin had finally made his way to Heaven where he belonged. Ash had helped Charlie track down her mother, and Dean blinked his eyes and almost cried at the he thought of them reunited. Sam finally got the damn dog he had always wanted, even if it was only a figment invented by his Heaven. 

Before Cas left, he always asked if there was a message that Dean wanted him to deliver, and Dean always gave him something new to say.

“Tell Sam that he’d better have a decent haircut now or I’m coming over there to shave his head myself.”

“Tell Jo to whoop Sammy’s ass at pool for my sake, she’s the only one who’d be able to do it.”

“Tell Bobby that none of this would’ve happened if we’d still had him around to keep our asses in line.”

“Tell Mom…” Pause, swallow the tears, glance down at the worn and torn photograph that he had held onto throughout the ages. “Tell her I did the right thing, after all. Or, I tried, at least. I did the best that I could.”

And finally- 

“Tell everyone that they don’t have to worry about me, alright? Tell them not to try to bring me back, or anything like that. Tell them…” Pause, deep breath, more tears start popping up. “Tell them I’m happy.”

* * *

In the end, Dean Winchester was okay.


End file.
